


While I'm Alive

by fizzyblogic (phizzle)



Category: All-American Rejects, Bon Jovi
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-24
Updated: 2007-07-24
Packaged: 2017-10-07 21:38:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/69492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phizzle/pseuds/fizzyblogic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Sort of a sequel to Cast Into the Sky.</p>
    </blockquote>





	While I'm Alive

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Cast Into the Sky](https://archiveofourown.org/works/69494) by [fizzyblogic (phizzle)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phizzle/pseuds/fizzyblogic). 



> Sort of a sequel to Cast Into the Sky.

> A long slow drive down an old dirt road, you got your hand out the window, listening to the radio; that's where I want to be. On an old park bench in the middle of December, cold hard rain falling, can't find no cover; that would be alright with me. Hard days, good times, blue skies, dark nights -- baby, I want you to take me wherever you're going to. Baby, say that you'll save me a seat next to you. In the corner booth of a downtown bar, with your head on my shoulder, smoking on a cheap cigar; that would be alright with me. In the back row of a movie or a cross-town train, I want to hear your voice whispering my name; that's where I want to be. Hard days, good times, blue skies, dark nights -- baby, say that you'll take me wherever you're going to. Baby, say that you'll save me a seat next to you. Life is like a ferris wheel spinning around, when you get to the top it's hard to look down -- just hang on, we'll make it through. Save me a seat next to you. When you get to the gates and the angels sing, go to that place where the church bells ring; you know I'll come running, running to find you. Baby, say that you'll take me wherever you're going to. And baby, I want you to save me a seat next to you.  
> \--Bon Jovi, "Seat Next To You"

  
"You know," Jon said, in that tone of voice he knew would make David and Tico glance at each other in a _Here we go_ gesture, "we should duet with someone for this Unplugged thing. The producers suggested it, said it'd be great for the show." He paused, looked around. "They said we could pick."

Richie stirred, but didn't say anything. "You have someone in mind," David said, as if he were pointing it out.

Jon nodded. "I was thinking The All-American Rejects."

Richie finally looked at him, and with his eyebrows and the tilt of his head he communicated, _Jon, I know you think they're hot, but –_

_Richie_, Jon communicated back, _they're _good_, it doesn't matter if they're hot. You like them too._

_We all do_, Richie replied with an almost audible sigh. _You know we all think they're great, and they'd be great on the show, just – Jon._

_I know. Trust me._

Richie nodded. "Alright, I will," he said aloud. The others didn't bother to ask.

"Guys?" Jon looked around. "If there's anyone else you want to suggest –"

"We like your idea," David cut him off. "Right?" There was a chorus of nods.

Jon grinned. "I'll call the producer."

::~::

Jon couldn't remember a time before he met Richie Sambora. He knew he did things before they were Dean and Frank, before they started writing music together and sharing pretty much everything from hotel rooms to what the inside of their heads and hearts look like, but _before_ just never seemed as real when he looked back.

A lot of it all was a jumble, tangle of scraps of memory, the way the sunlight filtered through the car windows, the way the breeze lifted their hair, the feeling of that first big tour and being on stage every night and looking over at his best friend to just _beam_ and see him beaming back, those nights they lay on their backs on Richie's bed with their heads in the middle and their bodies spread-eagled outward and talked until the sun came up. The first time Richie gave him a smile, a real genuine smile that held complete affection and the wish to spend some more time with the person the smile is aimed at, that was when Jon first wondered. Just a tiny prickle at the back of his neck, a momentary flicker of a thought, _I wonder, what would it be –_ and then it was gone.

He was just a kid back then. Finding his feet and he didn't know anything but he was so full of _willing_, willing to try, willing to fight, willing to _live_. That he was still willing after all the years was something he counted as a victory.

Time rolled on, Richie slotted into his rightful place as Jon's best friend, and he kept getting the prickles of wondering, just fleeting glimpses and fluttering thoughts _wondering_. He never expected to act on them. Maybe he always knew, somewhere deeper, what the answer was.

::~::

"They'll do it." Jon was grinning, couldn't help it. David lifted his palm for a high five, and Jon slapped it.

"Which song do you reckon would make the best duet?" Richie asked, grinning along.

"What do you think?" Jon mentally shuffled through their back catalogue as he watched Richie's eyes. His cheeks would start to hurt soon, he was grinning so hard.

"Maybe It's My Life?" Richie suggested, and Jon abandoned his internal discography.

"Perfect. It'll be just Nick and Tyson, so we should change the arrangement for a second guitar and voice."

"Do you two need us for that?" Tico asked. "Because if not, the bar's open." Jon was still grinning, they all were, and it was just one of those times where Jon felt so fucking lucky he had his band.

"We can work on it," Richie assured them. "Save a drink for us."

::~::

Jon knew Richie would have regretted that night way back when if it had gone any further than it did. He probably would have too, but the fact that he knew Richie never meant for it to happen in the first place hung like a weight, for three months afterward. Jon had never said anything. But this was Richie, his Dean; he didn't have to. Richie didn't say anything either.

That it happened at all was almost an accident. Richie never did tell anyone why he stopped drinking that one brand of whiskey after that night; Jon stopped drinking it too, but professed to all who asked that his taste buds must have mutinied and now he couldn't stand the stuff. The truth, that whenever he felt that burn at the back of his throat, tasted the sunlight (he'd read somewhere that drinking whiskey for the first time was like swallowing sunlight; he'd never really got that himself, but for some reason that night he'd suddenly understood, somehow, what was meant) it mingled with the faint tang of sweat and hotel-bathroom soap and something undeniably _Richie_, was something nobody needed to know.

He didn't tell Richie that sometimes, maybe every two years or so in the in-between times when they weren't touring or writing or spending every waking moment together, he closeted himself in the basement with a bottle of that whiskey and a glass and just sat, and sipped it, and closed his eyes. It wasn't that he wished it would happen again. It wasn't even that it _could_, that maybe sometimes Jon still wondered, if the timing was different – it _wasn't_ that, he loved his wife, he wanted to be with her for the rest of his life, it was just. There was a hole, when Richie wasn't there. The whiskey, it wasn't that it was a connection to _that night_, to the feel and taste of one minute they were laughing and it was like it always was when he looks over and Richie's smiling and the world for one shining moment is perfect and the next second Richie's mouth was on his, warm and soft and drier than Jon had thought it would be, lips moving against lips and the tips of tongues. He'd tasted the whiskey on Richie's tongue, explored it slowly and with a soft sound, and that's when Richie had shifted closer, a hand on Jon's thigh, and Jon had fought the urge to arch his neck back. They'd been kissing harder, deeper, Richie grinding against his leg and Jon grinding against his stomach, when Jon had moaned, "_Richie_," and the spell had broken.

The feeling – no, the straight-out _knowledge_ – that had been tapping at his shoulder since Richie had leant over and started kissing him had finally wrenched open the door and was announcing its presence: this just wasn't _right_. It wasn't it, it wasn't them, it wasn't how this goes. And it had suddenly felt _weird_, so they'd broken apart and cleared their throats and there had been two point nine five six seconds of supreme and full-body awkwardness before Richie had said, "Well Frank, how about another drink?" and Jon had just _smiled_ because it was back to how it always was, and when Richie had smiled back there was that shining moment, again, where the world was perfect.

::~::

Jon knew that Nick was a Bon Jovi fan. He knew about the tattoo, he'd been to see them play a couple of times in Jersey and LA, he had their albums, he knew they were the real deal.

What he hadn't known was apparent within seconds of meeting them both, in the backstage room at the studios. They walked in, Tyson first, Nick bringing up the rear; Tyson said, "Hey, hi," Jon jumped up to shake their hands; Nick didn't say a word, Tyson made up for it by continuing, "It's such an honour to do this, thank you so much for asking us," Jon replied that it was their pleasure; and then Tyson reached behind himself in an unconscious and small gesture and took Nick's hand and squeezed.

Jon glanced over at Richie. They raised their eyebrows in an _Oh_ simultaneously, and Richie ducked his head to direct the smile down at his shirt. Jon's eyes went back to Tyson and he said, "I'm excited."

"So're we," Tyson replied, jerking his head back to indicate Nick. "He hasn't talked about anything else for a week."

Nick, Jon noticed out of the corner of his eye, blushed. He still hadn't said anything, and Jon was careful to suppress the urge to give him the incoherent-fangirl-indulgent look. He smiled warmly instead, leaned closer and stage whispered, "It's okay, neither have I." He winked. Nick sort of chuckled nervously. They were still holding hands.

"Mr Jovi," a voice broke in, and Jon looked around to see a woman holding a clipboard. "You're needed in the studio for rehearsal."

"Thanks." He turned back to Nick and Tyson. "See you soon," he smiled at them, and on impulse he briefly squeezed Tyson's shoulder as he passed.

_So_, Richie's voice seemed to say in his head as they held a silent conversation in jaw tilts, _that's a little unexpected._

_Were you paying _attention_ in LA?_ They'd seen a show there together once, making sure nobody could realise it was them.

_Yes, but that's the stage show._

_Good point. Still, it makes sense, right?_

_Oh yes, it makes sense. Jon, what – Jon._

_I won't _do_ anything, Dean, you know it._

Richie didn't let up. _What did she say when you told her?_

Jon just grinned. _Rich, come on. You know she's the best thing about this world._

_Jon._ Richie shook his head softly, that kind of shake that's ten percent exasperation and ninety percent love. He didn't say anything else, but Jon noticed his eyes flicking over when they rehearsed the duet.

Tyson pulled him aside as they stepped off the set. "Can I talk to you, for a second?"

"Sure." They waited for the others to pass. Nick, when he did, threw a look at Tyson that Jon couldn't read; it seemed somewhere between pleading and gratitude. Tyson reached for Nick's hand and gave the quickest of squeezes, almost too fast for anyone to notice.

They found a secluded part of the corridor, and Jon leaned against the wall. Tyson fiddled with his sleeves. "Please don't think Nick is being rude, or anything, he's just."

"Tyson." Tyson looked up, and Jon tried to convey that it was okay with one cheek and half of his nose, but it was almost impossible speaking to anybody like that except Richie. "He has that Brotherhood tour tattoo, right? On his back?"

Tyson swallowed. "Yeah."

Jon reached over and patted him on the arm. "It's okay. Is he still freaking out?"

"A little, yeah," Tyson exhaled. "It's just, this is kind of a huge deal for him. I mean, it's a pretty big deal for me too, but – for Nick, it's kind of off the _scale_. The Rock Honors thing was huge, this is – he's _performing_ with you guys. You know?"

"So are you," Jon pointed out. He kept wanting to touch Tyson's arm, reassure him somehow.

"Yeah. Can hardly believe it." When he grinned, it was in a slope with one half of his mouth. It was, Jon decided, cute. "But you get it, right? About Nick?"

Jon eyed him. "He means a lot to you."

Tyson nodded, taken aback but trying to hide it. "You know, uh, that song on the new album, Seat Next To You?"

Jon resisted the urge to let his back melt into the wall. He just smiled, and said, "Is there anything I can do, help him calm down? He was so good, by the way, in rehearsal."

"Tell him that." Tyson was smiling again. It was still cute. "If he freaks out on you, just – okay, look, there's this trick." He leaned closer and lowered his voice. Jon leaned in more; Tyson smelled like fresh laundry and something kind of fruity. "The secret with Nick is, if he freaks out you have to get hold of his hands. Grounds him, or something."

"Thanks," Jon said, quiet. "I'll remember that. Can I – can I talk to him?" He looked around; they were in a sort of alcove, where it didn't seem likely they'd be overheard. "Here?"

"I'll go find him." Tyson was full-out beaming now. It had gone from 'cute' to 'cute as hell'. Jon waited, watching Tyson walk down the corridor as fast as he could without breaking into a run; a minute later, he returned. Nick was following with slightly red cheeks. Jon amended the 'cute as hell' to 'damn adorable' and smiled at their approach.

"Hi Nick," he said.

"I'll be back in a minute, baby," Tyson whispered into Nick's ear, pausing only to kiss his cheek and squeeze his hand again, and then walked back down the corridor, whistling.

"Uh," Nick tried.

"I just wanted to say, you were great in rehearsal. It's going to be pretty amazing." Nick was fiddling with the hem of his shirt, twisting it one way and then another, seemingly unconscious of the movement.

"I – thanks," he found his voice at last. "You were – I mean, I uh, we were watching the other songs, you guys were awesome."

Jon noticed the way Nick's lips were dry and his hands were still moving and his cheeks were still pink, and he felt a rush of affection for this boy who was nervous and embarrassed and could play the hell out of the solo in It's My Life. So he smiled, and he reached to touch the back of Nick's hand, and he said, "Thank you."

Nick licked his lips and his cheeks tinted darker towards red. "I just, I hope I don't bust it."

"You won't." Jon had to fight the sudden urge to hug him. "You know, I've been to a couple shows. You guys are pretty awesome yourselves."

Nick's head snapped up. "You've seen us play?"

Jon nodded. "My favourite live's Paper Heart. You always look so happy when you play that. Favourite on the albums, that'd be Move Along. You've got some good songs. Richie likes Too Far Gone best, David's partial to Can't Take It. The others have never said."

The power of speech seemed to have escaped Nick for five entire seconds. "I," he said at last.

Jon patted his hand again. He noticed Tyson approaching. "Why d'you think we asked you to play here? We like you guys, respect what you're doing."

"Wow, thanks," Tyson blinked. Nick jumped slightly at his voice, and reached for his hand. Tyson squeezed it. "Seriously, Jon, that means a lot to us."

Jon did the only thing he could think of to do right then. Maybe he was just tired of fighting off urges, but this one slipped through; he kissed Nick on the cheek, just briefly. The skin was warm, and flushed bright red afterwards. Jon then turned to Tyson and kissed his cheek too. "I gotta go, they'll want me for the interviews," he said. "You'll do great out there." He lingered for another second, just looking at them as they glanced at each other; and as he looked, he realised that they were having an entire silent conversation with their eyes.

He left them there, and went to find Richie.

::~::

"– Nicky and Tyson are gonna come up and join us," Jon said, searching the faces in the audience. He saw two silhouettes get up and start coming towards the stage. "We really dig these young guys that are kicking some big major booty right now themselves."

Nick shook Jon's hand as he passed, eyes fixed on the empty seat next to Richie. Jon pulled Tyson into a loose hug and whispered, "Is he okay?"

"Yeah, he'll be fine," Tyson whispered back, taking his microphone.

Jon watched Tyson as they sang. Tyson mostly looked at the audience, at his microphone; and back at Jon, after he noticed him watching. When it came time for the solo, Jon kept his eyes on Nick, the way he watched his own fingers on the frets, the way he somehow looked small sitting on the stool, the way his mouth moved in tandem with the notes. Jon was almost certain Nick hadn't noticed he was doing this, and was just as certain that it was completely adorable. When he looked back at Tyson to start singing again, they were both smiling, and Jon had to suppress a grin; their eyes met and communicated an unmistakable and simultaneous fondness for Nick Wheeler.

He didn't have to look to know that Richie was glancing over at him, and he could almost _see_ the smile of amusement.

"Were _you_ okay?" Jon whispered to Tyson as they left the stage. Tyson just looked at him and smiled with half his mouth again.

After they'd played every song, and wrapped up the interviews, Richie made a hand motion that said _We going?_ Jon flicked his wrist out in a, _Give me two minutes._

"Jon – Jon –" Before he could begin to look for them, Nick was pushing through the gathering of people towards him. "I just," he was flushed, but this time from exhilaration. He waved his hand in a clumsy gesture. "Wanted to say thanks."

Jon moved closer, searching his pockets for a scrap of paper. He pulled out a pen, scribbled on a torn piece of envelope, and pushed it into Nick's hand. "This is my number. You two should call me some time."

Nick blinked. "I – uh, yeah, we will."

Jon fixed him with a smile. "I'd like that," he said. Nick smiled back.

"Hey – jacket." Richie stood behind him, holding his jacket out. "They want to clean up."

"Thanks, Rich." Jon looked back at Nick. "Make sure you do."

Nick nodded. "Hey Richie – uh, thanks. That was pretty amazing."

Richie moved over and slung one arm around Nick's shoulder. "It was. You doing anything?"

"Uh. We've got a flight, in a couple hours."

"Shame, I was hoping to buy you a drink. Next time, alright?"

Nick suddenly broke out into the biggest grin Jon had ever seen on him. "Yeah, yeah definitely."

Jon slung his arm around Nick's other shoulder, brushing along the length of Richie's. There was a happy bubble welling in his chest. "And the time after that, you're buying."

"Deal." Nick was practically vibrating.

Tyson sidled up and said, "Ready, Nicky?"

Nick beamed at him. "You betcha. See you again," he said to them, and then they were gone.

As they left the room, Jon heard Tyson start to sing, "You see I've always been a fighter."

Nick joined in, "But without you, I give up." Tyson pulled him closer and their smiles were wide as they disappeared into the throng.

"They're great guys," Richie spoke up, almost making Jon jump. He hadn't realised he'd kept his eyes on the door after Nick and Tyson had left through it. "Think we can work with them again?"

"I hope so." Jon slipped his arm around Richie's back. "Come on, Dean. Let's go get a drink."


End file.
